


Journey's End

by rubberbird



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bianca ain't shit, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbird/pseuds/rubberbird
Summary: Varric reacts badly to Hawke almost sacrificing herself.





	Journey's End

**Author's Note:**

> Whether it's friendship or romantic love or w/e, Varric and Hawke's relationship makes me so happy. Hawke makes me happy in general actually. I was inspired in part by this oldish but quite lovely story: [Don't Leave Me Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888744).

Varric burst into Hawke's room. His coat was off and he was clearly out of breath. Hawke actually took a step backwards when she saw him. She'd never seen him like that. Nostrils flared and eyes narrowed like he was an enraged bronto about to chase her down.

"Varric, what—"

Varric stalked towards her and took her shoulders in his hands. With a deliberate push, he made her sit down on her bed. "No, Hawke, you listen for a change."

Hawke sat on the edge of her bed, staring up (well… towards) him, too taken off-guard to react. She was usually not the sort of person who enjoyed being pushed onto a bed without her permission, but Varric had an air about him that suggested he was not fucking around. And Varric so rarely lost his temper that she was actually a bit fascinated.

Varric's face was furiously flushed. "What the hell was that? What in the deepest, darkest depths of the sodding _Void_ was that?"

Hawke stared at him. "Pardon me?"

Varric took a step towards her and put a finger in her face like he was about to scold her. "Don't you ever threaten to kill yourself again, Hawke." His tone was low, dangerous. She had only ever heard him use it maybe a handful of times before, usually when someone had threatened her in a particularly vile manner. And the tone was usually followed by someone getting a crossbow bolt in the gullet. "I won't—" He looked away, giving his head a short, sharp shake. And then looking back at her. His jaw, tense and rigid, trembled just enough to be perceivable. "I swear to the Maker you'd better never pull a stunt like that again."

"You're being overdramatic," Hawke replied, knowing she sounded flippant but needled by his tone. "I would have found my way out of the Fade eventually."

Varric scoffed with disgust. "Andraste's tits." He looked away from her. "You might be a hero, Hawke, but even you can't come back from the dead."

"I made a decision," Hawke retorted, her bewilderment morphing quickly into annoyance at being lectured like a schoolgirl. "Who else was going to? You?"

Varric looked at her, eyes sharp with anger and— Fear. She could see it plainly now. There was fear in his eyes. "Don't give me that shit, Hawke. You were playing the hero."

Hawke straightened up where she was sitting, skin prickling with anger. "Funny how you've never complained about this before. I guess it was alright when you were making money off of me—"

"Don't try and twist this around into some pissing match." Varric was nearly shouting at her now. He looked into her eyes. "Hawke, if you had died, I swear to the sodding Maker himself I would have found a way into that shithole and found you just so I could fucking… fucking…"

Hawke stared at him, her chest moving like she'd just run up a long flight of stairs, her fingernails embedded in the bedclothes. Varric's eyes didn't leave hers and the air seemed to seethe with anticipation for a moment, as though the room, Skyhold, the mountains were all holding their breath together.

Varric's body collided with hers in a way that threw her onto her back on the bed. Without pausing to grasp what was happening, she clasped at Varric's arms, pulled him down on top of her, sought his mouth with hers. He gripped one of her arms tightly, almost painfully, and sunk the other one into her bed. The awkwardness of positioning, the difference in their size was forgotten as they desperately grabbed at each other's clothes and bodies, as though making sure they were both still there, alive, corporeal, not going anywhere.

Varric broke away, shaking his head away from her. "Hawke— I couldn't—" His voice was thick.

"Hush," Hawke said softly, reaching up and touching his face. "Don't worry."

It was about the inanest thing she could have said. They had _plenty_ of shit to worry about. The self-professed god bearing down on them, the fact she had to leave the next morning to go to Weisshaupt, the fact she had a partner and he had a lover. But for a few moments, she wanted the words to be able to clean all of that away. They were together and everything was okay for the moment.

Hawke tore down her leggings and Varric clumsily did the same with his, making the task more difficult by his seeming unwillingness to take his eyes off of her. Varric spread her legs and stuck his fingers in his mouth, his eyes travelling down her body like a caress to her exposed flesh. He bit his lip and rocked forward to slip his fingers inside of her. Hawke rocked upwards, exhaling softly.

Varric groaned. "Fuck, Hawke. Wet."

He extracted his fingers and moved forward, positioning himself over her and gripping the bedsheets as he entered her. She let him in with a breathy gasp out. As he began to move, she wrapped her arms around him and held him. Held him as he made love to her. His pace was frantic and rough and she knew she was not going to come, but the rightness of it, even now, when the world was about as wrong as it could be, filled her with such a sense of comfort, that it didn't matter. She needed his closeness. She needed him. Right now. And always.

He panted and gasped in her ear as he rocked in and out of her. Hawke pressed her lips against his temple, nuzzled at his hair and let her hands roam over his shoulders, his broad arms, the hair across his chest.

" _Hawke._ Fuck, Hawke."

"I thought that was what you were already doing," she whispered into his ear.

He laughed and it almost sounded like a sob. He thrust once more and made a soft, strangled sound as he came.

"Hawke!"

She moaned out loud at that the sound of her name, and the feeling of his seed inside of her, filling her and completing her. Nothing could be safer or more alright than when it was her best friend. When it was Varric. Who belonged to her and who she belonged to.

He rolled off of her and lay beside her, breathing roughly and staring up at the canopy of her bed. Hawke touched his hand and he thread his fingers through hers without saying a word. The room was quiet; the sun was beginning to go down outside. And they lay there together. Hawke wondered what he was thinking about, wondered if she had ever felt such a strong and steadying sense of love for someone before, wondered how she would feel walking away from that place tomorrow. Walking into danger again. Walking into someone's else's arms. Walking away from Varric.

Varric sat up at length, sheepishly adjusting his clothes. "So, that was…" He laughed nervously. "I'm sorry about before— I got a bit—"

Hawke sat up next to him. "Overexcited?"

He caught her eye and they both smirked guiltily. Hawke felt an overwhelming ache of protectiveness for him and wished— Well, there was no point in thinking about it.

"I… better get back to writing some letters." Varric gingerly got up from the bed. "You... You want me to write one to Fenris?"

Hawke looked up at the stone ceiling. "Yes. You best have."

He nodded and went to leave. At the door, he stopped and looked back at her. His brow knitted as he seemed to force back the overwhelming expression of something. "Please come back, Hawke. Wherever you go, whatever shit you get dragged into. Please, come back."

Hawke smiled at him.

"I always do."


End file.
